


Avengers One-Shots

by holdtheblind



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7409110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdtheblind/pseuds/holdtheblind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and one-shots featuring our beloved Avengers (+ friends) and you, the reader.</p><p>(i only take requests on my tumblr, darlingbuchanan. make sure to check the rules before requesting.)</p><p>NEWEST CHAPTER: loki x reader</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. attention (bucky x reader)

**attention; bucky x reader**

_(y/n) = your name  
(e/c) = eye colour_

Without meaning to, you’d arranged two dates for the same evening.

Dating, as an Avenger, was never easy. People were _terrified_ of you. You weren’t sure whether it was the whole superhero thing or the fact that your best friend was Steve Rogers. All you knew was that it never worked out.

Second dates were a rare occurrence.

So after a long day of sparring with Nat and paperwork for S.H.I.E.L.D., you were more than pleased when you had to cancel both dates. The day had been stressful; not only did you end up getting your ass handed to you a couple times, but you ended up screwing up on the paperwork and had to redo all of it.

Even though your day was amazingly crappy, Steve was surprised to find you sat on the couch at  7:00 PM. Your (e/c) eyes were glued to the television screen.

“(Y/N)?” he spoke — at the moment, he was standing next to the couch. His voice tore you out of your reverie, much to your disappointment. The episode of Mythbusters you were watching was a particularly interesting one, and you would have pouted if not for the confused look on Steve’s face.

“What’s up, Stevie?” you asked, eyes darting back to your beloved television for a brief moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now? With, uh, what’s-his-name?” Steve replied, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Jordan, was it? From medical?”

“Jackson,” you corrected, smiling back at your friend. “But yeah, apparently I also had a date with Luke from accounting. I decided to just cancel both. Neither of them were cute anyways.”

Steve laughed at your brash manner of speaking and shook his head.

With a smile, he said that he would be heading to one of the labs to talk to Tony. With a half-hearted ‘goodnight’ from you (Mythbusters had again captivated your attention), he went towards te elevator and the disappeared out of eyeshot.

With your focus again on the TV, you nearly screamed when a large body plopped itself down on the couch next to you.

Your eyes shot immediately to view your new couch-buddy, and you sighed in relief when you saw it was just Bucky. He, however, didn’t greet you. He was staring at the television like you had been before you got interrupted.

“…Bucky?” you asked, confused as to how he managed to even  _ get _ to the couch without alerting you. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky’s eyes lazily traveled over to you, a small and playful grin gracing his features. One of his eyebrows was raised in mild amusement.

“I’m watching Mythbusters. What does it look like I’m doing, doll?”

Those  _ nicknames. _

For as long as you’d known Bucky, the nicknames made you weak in the knees and got your heart fluttering. You were pretty sure you blushed redder than an apple when he called you ‘doll’ for the first time. While you’d gotten better at hiding your embarrassment, the feeling got more intense every time.

You just rolled your eyes at his comment and settled back into the couch.

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you continued watching your episode. His left leg was just barely brushing up against yours due to his position on the couch.

One thing you’d never be willing to speak of was you purely  _ massive _ crush on James Buchanan Barnes.

On more than one occasion, your teammates had confronted you about it, leaving you blushing and blubbering like an idiot. You knew it was obvious. You would essentially choke every time his name was brought up. In front of him, you managed to keep it relatively cool — because, for the love of god, you could not and _would not_ make a fool of yourself in front of Bucky Barnes. But behind the scenes?

You were a mess.

And so when you bid him goodnight about 15 minutes later and he grabbed your wrist when you were going to leave, you were less than impressed by the sheer amount of blood that rushed to your face at that very moment.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” he asked softly, fingers still holding their gentle grip on your arm.

You swallowed thickly, eyes glued to the floor in front of you. “Uh, yeah… I had to cancel. I, uh, accidentally ended up with two dates in one night.”

He chuckled softly, then tugged at your arm with surprising gentleness.

“Sit down, doll,” he said, and you slowly complied, seating yourself on the couch again. You still refused to make eye contact, and his hand was still around your wrist.

When you heard him laugh a few seconds later, interrupting your uncomfortable and tense silence, you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or even more nervous.

“Nat told, me, you know,” he said, the amusement evident in his voice. “She told me about your crush.”

You cursed under your breath, mentally pledging to get revenge on the red-headed girl later.

Your eyes still focused on the floor, Bucky had raised a hand to your chin, gently turning your head to face him. He leant in, and before you had time to react, his lips were pressing onto yours. Your breath hitched in your chest, and your right hand went up to cup the cheek of the super-soldier.

Bucky pulled away not even five seconds later and stood with a grin on his face.

“Goodnight, doll,” he said over his shoulder, already walking to the elevator.

With that, Bucky sent you one last smirk as the elevator doors shut, leaving you dazed and red-faced.

The next morning, Bucky was the only one in the kitchen when you wandered down. You were still tired and confused from the previous night’s events.

“So…” you started as you popped your bread in the toaster. “Are we, like—”

You were cut off when Bucky hugged you into his chest from behind, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“I think so,” he replied with a soft yawn, his bare arms warming you through your t-shirt.

And _that_ was a feeling you could get used to.


	2. playlist (tony x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is personally offended by the types of music his girlfriend listens to.

**playlist (tony x reader)**  
_y/n = your name_  
_yn/n = your nickname_

 

“For the love of all that is holy, will you please,  _ please _ stop playing that garbage?”

Anyone who had ever even  _ met _ Tony Stark knew that he listened to dad rock.

And you had never seen anyone with such an intense, concentrated look of pure offence on their face until you told him such.

In his workshop, any noise would be drowned out by Queen, or Black Sabbath, or The Killers. You figured the sheer volume of the music that constantly blasted through his speakers was partially so that nobody could distract him, but mostly to cover up his atrocious singing voice. You felt like crying when you happened to be next to him on Clint’s birthday that one time. When Nat busted the cake out from the refrigerator and all of you began to sing for the archer, you were sure your ears would fall off.

_ 'Nobody deserves to go through that kind of torture, Nat’  _ you ranted to her the next day.  _ 'It was just horrible!’ _

(You had to pretend not to see the knowing smirk on her face, considering that you were smiling fondly through the whole ordeal.)

But even if he totally sang like a dying bird and he sometimes got a tad bit too involved in his work, you loved Tony, and you loved his dad music. It was strangely fitting of the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist you called your boyfriend. Loud, sometimes annoying, and flashy.

The thing about Tony was that he spent a  _ lot _ of time in his lab whenever he had a 'breakthrough’, as he called it. Lately, he'd been working day and night on some new stabilizing technology for his suit, which left you to yourself. The day before, he said he was almost done (he had whined a loud ‘ _ Y/N, I swear, just an hour and I'm done!’ _ the night before when you dragged him to bed).

Normally he'd finish his work early in the morning, and spend the rest of the day with you, whether you decided to go out for dinner or stay in and watch Terminator for the billionth time. So you were surprised when you walked down on that Thursday morning and didn't see him in the workshop. Without some sort of guitar solo playing at an ear-shattering volume, the room felt eerily quiet.

You took the advantage of the silence to play some of your own music while you worked on Steve's motorcycle like you had promised to.

“FRIDAY,” you spoke out into the silent room, “can you put on my playlist, please?”

The disembodied interface complied quickly and started playing the only playlist you actually had on your phone — about 50 or so songs, mostly from Fleetwood Mac, Journey, and even some Simon & Garfunkel. You and Tony were complete opposites in that sense. While his music was loud and brash, filled with constant noise and drum solos and heavy bass lines, yours was softer and calmer; hell, you listened to  _ Simon & Garfunkel. _

You were so focused on repairing Steve's brake line and humming along to a Fleetwood Mac song (because really, who could resist singing along to Landslide _ ) _ that you didn't notice the door to the workshop open and Tony walk in.

“Oh god,  _ god no, _ YN/N,” he said, the distaste very present in his voice. “Simon & Garfunkel? Are you kidding me?”

Since your music was a great deal quieter than Tony's, you could hear his words ring through the room

You looked up, oil smudged on your forehead, and flashed him a cheeky grin.

“For the love of all that is holy, will you please,  _ please _ stop playing that garbage?” he continued, shaking his head as he walked over and sat in the chair closest to you. “This is a disgrace to all music.”

You laughed and turned back to the motorcycle.

“FRIDAY, next song, please,” you called out, and the song was immediately changed to Aerosmith.

Tony grinned and nodded approvingly.

“Now that's more like it,” he said smugly, laughing when you flipped him the bird.

You stood, walking over to Tony and sat yourself in his lap, your head resting on his shoulder. His scent (a mixture of motor oil, aftershave, and coffee) was strong and comforting, and you unknowingly found yourself smiling when he wrapped his arms around your waist.

He hummed softly along to the song, and although it was downright horrible, you sighed in content and snuggled into his chest.

“Don't wanna close my eyes,” he sang quietly into your hair. “Don't wanna fall asleep, cuz I'd miss you, baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing…”

You leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Tony's lips, eyes fluttering closed as he hugged you closer.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

“Your music taste is still garbage, though,” Tony said. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I know,” you replied softly, tracing designs on Tony’s shoulder with your index finger. You allowed yourself to drift off, Aerosmith still playing in the background.

_ Lying close to you _ __  
_ Feeling your heart beating _ __  
_ And I'm wondering what you're dreaming _ __  
_ Wondering if it's me you're seeing _ __  
__  
_ Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we're together _ __  
_ And I just wanna stay with you _ __  
_ In this moment forever, forever and ever _ __  
__  
_ I don't wanna close my eyes _ __  
_ I don't wanna fall asleep _ __  
_ 'Cause I'd miss you, baby _ _  
_ ___ And I don't wanna miss a thing..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i take requests on my tumblr!  
> see my fic prompts: [click](http:www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/prompts)  
> read my request rules: [click](http:www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/rules)  
> make a request: [click](http:www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/request)


	3. damaged wires (bucky x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has some damaged wires in his arm and the reader fixes them for him.

**damaged wires;  bucky x reader**

_Y/N = your name_

“How did you manage to  _ do _ this?”

Bucky sat on a stool in front of you, metal arm splayed across your desk and eyes focused on the wall. You had carefully removed his mechanical hand in order to allow you access to the high-tech wiring inside.

During his mission, Bucky’s arm had gotten damaged by a misfired repulsed blast, via Tony. 

Normally, Tony would be the one to take care of damaged tech. By since he was on the medical floor getting cleaned up, he’d left you to take care of Bucky’s arm.

You had been the sole lab technician in Stark Tower for four years. It took ages of prodding from Pepper for him to recognize that occasional help in the labs would be helpful, and a cousin of a friend of a professor of a friend of an employee at Stark Industries had managed to get you an interview. Tony hired you after five minutes of relentless and unrelated questions:  _ ‘What are your thoughts on breakfast foods? You shower every day, correct? Do explosions scare you? Can you make a soufflé? Do you speak Russian?’ _

And since you were his “protégé”, you were forced to do things he A) didn’t want to do, and B) was physically unable to do, whether because he was drunk, asleep, or having a gash on his forehead being tended to.

So there you were: standing in your lab, Bucky Barnes sitting in front of you as you held his detached metal hand in one of yours. Not really how you envisioned spending your Monday afternoon.

While scrunching your nose, you set the metal hand on the desk and sat yourself in a chair next to Bucky, picking up a wire cutter.

You blushed at the lack of distance; the closest you had ever been to the super-soldier was a few chairs away during dinner. This was the first time you’d been forced to be in such close proximity to him, and needless to say, you were just short of being a mess. You’d harbored a small crush on him for several months, and the close proximity would’ve driven you crazy if you weren’t a semi-serious employe.

After fifteen minutes of slowly and cautiously cutting out the strands of damaged wires and another three minutes spent soldering replacements into his arm, you were done. You took a couple seconds to reattach his hand, and then stood back to admire your handiwork.

“Alright, Bucky,” you said proudly. “All done! Your arm should be working just like normal.”

You didn’t even realize you were smiling as Bucky stood up, grinning widely at you.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he replied softly, reaching out and briefly hugging you into his chest. “You’re the best.”

Before you had time to react, Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss.

When he pulled away, you could see the faint blush on his face, and it was as if your own face was on  _ fire. _

“See you later, doll,” he said with a smile, removing his arms from around your waist and walking to the door of your lab. You were somewhere between shock and happiness at what had just unfolded.

Before he could reach the door, you walked quickly towards him, steps broad and eyes filled with purpose.

You grabbed his arm as soon as you caught up to him and promptly turned him around, pulling him down and smashing your lips against his again.

You could feel him tense against you, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made the right choice. But when he relaxed and brought his hands up to rest on your waist, you smiled against his lips and pulled him even closer.

“It's about fucking time,” he muttered when you pulled apart for air, eyes twinkling. “I've been wanting to do that for months now.”

“Me too,” you admitted with a grin, heart racing.

“Well, hey,” Bucky started with a smirk, arms going around your waist. “Maybe I should have you fix my arm more often.”

You rolled your eyes and tugged gently on his shirt collar.

“Shut up and kiss me, Barnes,” you said bemusedly.

“Gladly,” Bucky replied and leant down to meet your lips once more.

And for the first time in your life, you could say you were  _ amazingly _ grateful for damaged wires and repulsor blasts.


	4. russian confessions (bucky x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky keeps confessing his love to the reader in Russian. The thing is... he doesn't know you can understand him.

**russian confessions (bucky x reader)**

 

The first time Bucky complimented you was right after a debriefing.

You and the others had come back from a particularly grueling mission, and you were bruised and scarred and  _ sweaty _ . The room smelled of pure filth.

You had a deep cut on your cheek that had stopped bleeding on the quinjet, but you were sure that you'd need stitches. You were tired, you were sore, and there was dirt and blood smudged on your face.

When you left the conference room after an hour of listening to Cap and Fury ramble on, you smelled like a week-old carcass and if you were any dirtier, flies would be swarming around you.

But he said it anyways.

“Ты такая красивая,” he remarked quietly. You were the only ones in the elevator, and you only just  _ barely _ heard his whisper.

You pretended not to hear him, and you were quite sure he didn't see the faint blush on your cheeks.

The second time was at breakfast a few days later.

Natasha sat next to you, and Steve to your other side. When Bucky came downstairs, he stared at you for a brief moment and then huffed out a quiet, “Ты такая восхитительная.”

Upon a strange look from Nat, he blushed and grabbed a muffin, then headed towards the elevator again without a second look towards you.

She gave you a questioning look, and you just shrugged. You didn't see Steve's fond smile.

By the third time, you had realized that  _ he didn't know you could understand him. _

You were on the couch doing paperwork while he was sat next to you and watching television.

“Ты такая восхитительная,” he spoke, eyes not moving from his show. You knew he was speaking to you either way.

The fourth time, which was the most memorable, was in the middle of a fucking  _ mission. _ You had just taken out a Hydra agent when Bucky smirked at you and said, “Ты всегда в моих мыслях. Мне так хорошо с тобою.” He then proceeded to send a man flying across the room with a single kick. Needless to say, you were a bit distracted for the rest of the mission. That earned you some severe scolding from Fury.

The final time, you were both watching a movie on the couch. You were snuggled into his side, his arm around your waist.

During a particularly boring scene, he looked down at you.

“Я самый счастливый человек на Земле, потому что у меня есть ты,” Bucky said with a grin. “я хочу, чтобы ты Скажи, что любишь меня.”

You chuckled softly and, without thinking twice, replied.

“Джеймс Барнс, ты такая необычная. Я тебя люблю.”

His eyes boggled at your response, and you felt his arm tense. You still were watching the movie, unaware of what you had done.

“You… you speak Russian?” he asked, staring intensely down at you. “You've understood me this entire time?”

You then realized you had indeed replied to him, in  _ Russian, _ and sighed, blushing slightly.

“O-oh, uh, yeah,” you replied sheepishly. “I lived there a few years back, when I was a teen. I'm kinda fluent.”

For a second, Bucky was silent. You didn't dare to look up, scared of his reaction — what if he was mad that you'd played innocent the entire time? Or what if he was lying the entire time? What if he hated you?

And then, he laughed.

It started off small, just a tiny giggle. Before you knew it, he was howling in laughter, clutching his stomach and tears forming in his eyes.

It was contagious, and you were soon laughing like a hyena.

When you both finally managed to calm down, he enveloped you in a hug and kissed you on the cheek.

“It would've been easier if you just told me,” he murmured, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shut up,” you replied and wrapped your arms around his torso. “I liked being showered with random compliments.”

“Of course you did,” he scoffed, then kissed you gently.

You had no idea that speaking Russian would ever be so beneficial.

 

translations;

_ Ты такая красивая - You are so beautiful. _

_ Ты такая восхитительная - You're adorable. _

_ Ты такая восхитительная - You're wonderful. _

_ Ты всегда в моих мыслях. Мне так хорошо с тобою. - You're always on my mind. I feel good when I'm near you. _

_ Я самый счастливый человек на Земле, потому что у меня есть ты. я хочу, чтобы ты Скажи, что любишь меня. - I am the happiest man on earth because I have you. I wish you'd say that you love me. _

_Джеймс Барнс, ты такая необычная._ _Я тебя люблю. - Bucky, you're so strange. I love you._


	5. the queen's affairs (t'challa x reader) 1/3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'challa and his queen have a day off. 1/3, NSFW.
> 
> Warnings: oral sex (female receiving)

**the queen's affairs; t'challa x reader**  
nsfw, 1/3  
  
_(y/n) = your name_

It was, for the first time in a long time, a relatively quiet day in the Wakandan palace.

You and your husband T'challa had been lounging around your bedroom all day. You had both been surprised to find out that there was nothing on the agenda for the day, and you intended to make the best of your time off — and by 'make the best of it', you both meant sitting around and eating copious amounts of cereal.

The two of you were propped up, sitting against the headboard of your bed. You were wearing nothing but a loose old flannel of T’challa’s and your underwear, and he was in boxers and a tight black t-shirt. Considering the warmth of the summer months, neither of you were under the covers, and you were enjoying your time by watching some random game show on the television. A man had just lost a chance to win a car when you were oh-so graciously distracted by T’challa.

“(Y/N)…” he spoke, his voice doing  _ the thing: _ that one thing where he most definitely wanted something from you, and you would end up giving it to him more often than not. The tone of his voice would go all gravelly and husky, and your knees would tremble and you'd give in almost instantaneously.

“What is it, T'challa?” you asked, eyes not wandering from the TV screen. There was a feeling festering in your gut that what he wanted was going to require physical exertion. After almost two weeks of constantly running up and down and working, that was the last thing you needed.

“My queen, I've missed your affection in the past few days,” he murmured, suddenly much closer to your ear than you remembered. It took your entire will (and then some) to not shudder at the way his breath puffed against your sensitive skin.

You hummed softly under your breath and then collected your racing thoughts.

“T'challa, we're supposed to be relaxing,” you said with a sigh, clutching the remote control in your trembling left hand. Your teeth dug into your lower lip, almost to the point of drawing blood as you tried to contain any more embarrassing sounds. You knew that he could sense your arousal and anticipation, but it was more fun if you at least tried not to give in sometimes.

But then, he pressed his lips against your jaw and said, “I'm relaxed. Are you not?” and you knew that you were absolutely done for.

You allowed a breathy moan to pass through your lips, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his skin on yours — and you couldn’t help but think,  _ ‘God, I’ve missed this.’ _

“Shit, T’challa,” you hissed. Your grip on the TV remote weakened, and you let it slide from the previously tight hold you had on it. Your fingers went straight to the bedsheets, clenching them between your fingers as if life depended on it. He chuckled against the soft skin of your neck and knew that he had you.

He took your hand in his own and tugged gently, and you knew what to do.

Wordlessly, you shifted over and straddled him, your chest pressing up against his own.

“Hello there, my love,” he said with a cheeky grin, eyes crinkling at the corners from his smile.

Rolling your eyes at his childish behaviour, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

If there was _ one _ thing about T’challa that you could never get enough of, it would be his lips. They were oftentimes just barely chapped, but always full and soft. Everything about them drove you crazy — when he told you that he loved you, they’d curl up at the corners. When he spoke, watching them just captivated you. The way that they moved against yours made your entire body  _ sing _ , and heat rush to the area between your legs.

The scent of his cologne (a strong, musky concoction of amber, pine, and sandalwood) pervaded your nose and overwhelmed your senses. Before you knew it, your arms were looped around his neck: fingers of one hand were woven in the fabric of his shirt, and the other hand planted firmly on the back of his neck to pull him closer to you.

He grunted quietly against your lips, his fingers already at work unbuttoning the loose flannel shirt you were wearing.

When all the buttons were undone, you pulled back to take a hearty breath and shrug the shirt off your shoulders. T’challa’s lust-glazed eyes drank in your disheveled form, and he smirked when he saw your remaining attire.

Lace.

He’d always loved seeing you in lace, from the first time you two had been intimate. And so when he saw you in your red, lace-detailed panties and bra, he was more than excited.

“Oh god, yes,” he murmured, right hand going up to cup your breast. “God, you look good enough to eat, my love.”

You pressed your crotch down onto his, gasping in satisfaction from the contact.

“Fuck, T’challa,” you groaned, your hot breath mingling with his in the stale air. “Please, please, I need more.”

You weren’t sure exactly what you were asking for, but he seemed to understand what you were begging him for. With another smirk and a low chuckle, he wordlessly helped you onto your back in front of him, legs spread.

“Don’t worry, my queen,” he breathed, calloused fingertips trailing gently along your stomach. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Before you could even fathom a response, he had pushed aside your panties (not bothering to take them off) and dragged his tongue down your cunt.

“Fuck!” you hissed, instinctively bucking your hips upwards. One of his hands came up to press your waist down firmly, and the other gripped your thigh. You knew you’d have a fresh collection of bruises along your waist and legs to show for your activities the next morning.

You trembled under his touch. His tongue delved deeper into your slit, and it took all your willpower not to grind yourself against his mouth.

“A-ah, T’challa,” you breathily moaned, clenching the bedsheets with your shaking fingers. “Fuck, yeah. Right  _ there _ , Jesus Chr—   _ yes!” _

T’challa maneuvered his arm so that it pinned down your waist (not enough to hurt you, but enough to keep you from bucking up into his face).

Before you even knew what was happening, he used his free hand to slide two thick, warm fingers into your slick heat.

You let out a quiet gasp of  _ “shit!” _ , his calloused digits pumping inside of you while his tongue relentlessly lapped at your your clit. His fingers were abusing your spot, pushing you closer and closer to your approaching release.

“T-T’challa, harder,” you uttered between loud moans, and he complied with nothing but a soft chuckle.

His fingers slammed into your g-spot, pressing hard and making the spring in your womb tighten with every second.

When his teeth grazed your clit, you fell apart. With a lengthy string of curses and moans, you trembled underneath your husband. Fingers still pumping in and out of out a leisurely pace, he fingered you through your intense orgasm while you shook beneath him in ecstasy.

As soon as you came down from your high, you giggled and sat up, nibbling your lower lip. T’challa was sucking your juices off of his fingers, a playful look in his eyes. You raised a questioning eyebrow but he shook his head, flopping back onto the pillows and opening his arms.

Laughing to yourself, you crawled forward and settled yourself in his arms. The TV still played in the background, long-forgotten.

“You can return the favour later, yeah?” he murmured bemusedly into your ear, causing you to giggle and nod.

“Of course, my king,” you murmured, smiling and burying your face into the crook of his neck. “What kind of queen would I be if I didn’t?”

T’challa chuckled at your response, strong arms hugging you closer to his chest.

After all, you  _ did _ have the entire day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i take requests on my tumblr!  
> see my fic prompts: [click](http:www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/prompts)  
> read my request rules: [click](http:www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/rules)  
> make a request: [click](http:www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/request)


	6. autumn leaves (peter x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summer's coming to an end, and you find yourself realizing that you're gonna miss peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heckheckheck im sorry for no updates for like , a year ive just been in such a slump but i wrote this and thought it was cute

**autumn leaves; peter x reader**

_y/n = your name_

“I have something to show you.”

The heavy air of summer was becoming ever-so crisp as July rolled into August. T-shirts turned into sweaters, jogs outdoors into runs on the treadmill, iced tea into apple cider. There was always the unmistakeable scent of cinnamon wafting through the Compound’s kitchen. Though you welcomed the change of seasons, as Cap no longer forced you to train outdoors (in fear of you getting sick), it also meant the end of summer vacation.

It meant the end of your days and nights spent with Peter. Of staying up until ungodly hours of the morning, stargazing and watching Netflix and just _talking,_ exploring one another beneath the sheets, living and laughing and existing for nobody but yourselves. Though you technically had separate bedrooms, you spent your nights together more often than not. You wouldn’t admit it, but you slept better when he was with you. He _would_ admit it, and he slept better, too.

You missed your family, of course. You missed your friends and you missed your home in Queens and you missed the city. There was a certain tranquility to being Upstate, but after too long, it made you antsy and uncomfortable. You needed the rush and bustle. You missed spending your weekends down there, sometimes taking the 7 train up to Manhattan with Peter. It was just you and your boyfriend and NYC — the city that was an organism in and of itself, breathing and laughing and crying with its 1.6 million residents. (Y/N) and Peter and Manhattan, taking on the world.

But the Compound gave you another family. Nat and Cap and Bruce had appointed themselves as your stand-in parents over summer breaks, when you and Peter lived at the Compound to train. Tony and Clint were your “cool uncles,” as was Thor, when he wasn’t tending to his Asgardian duties. Sam and Wanda had taken the role of being like siblings to you both. It’d been a while before Bucky accustomed himself to your presence, longer than that before he trusted you, and even longer than that before he trusted himself _around_ you, but he had become one of your best friends, as odd as it sounded. He was a constant; though outwardly cold, he had a pure heart and purer intentions.

They were your home away from home. It broke your heart when you had to leave them. Every time.

There was a week left before you had to go back to Queens. You only lived a few blocks from Peter, but you didn’t attend the same school, and you were both just so _busy_ (him with his schoolwork and Academic Decathalon and hero-ing, you with your heavy load of classwork and odd assortment of extracurriculars). You didn’t spend a lot of time together. You went on coffeeshop dates when your schedules aligned; it was almost like the sun and moon moving for an eclipse.

Your parents and his Aunt May allowed sleepovers sometimes. You’d curl up together on one of your beds, doing little else but basking in the presence of one another. That much was enough.

You’d been on a couch in the living room when he approached you. Everyone except Thor, Bruce, and Tony could be found somewhere in the room, draped over loveseats and armchairs. Your nose was buried in a book recommended to you by Cap. You were wearing one of Peter’s sweaters. It was tan, cable-knit, and comfortable. It drowned you, but it smelled like him. You planned on taking it back home with you.

He nudged your shoulder, said those six words to you, flashed you his signature awkwardly dorky grin.

“Okay.”

You put your bookmark in the novel. The bookmark was a scrap of newspaper you’d cut while back at home. It was from the week after the Chitauri invaded New York and left most of Midtown Manhattan a wreck. It reminded you to do better. To be better. That you were a part of something more.

You stood, and your hands found one another’s as if on impulse. Fingers intertwining, you allowed him to lead you to the elevator.

“Where are you taking me, Peter?” you hummed, smiling when his eyes met yours. The orbs of brown always held a warmth to them.

“Nowhere special,” he said back. “Just trust me, yeah?”

You trusted him, but it didn’t need to be said. Both of you knew that already.

The elevator dinged open, and you walked out together, footsteps aligned as you made your way onto the roof; you were immediately glad for the sweater you wore, as the air nipped at your cheeks and sent a chill through you… and when you saw the blanket set out for you — stereotypical red and white checkerboard, with a wicker basket set atop it — you smiled.

It was unspoken, but you were thankful. It was exactly what you needed.

He escorted you over to the blanket and unclasped his hand from your own.

“I only packed sandwiches,” he told you, penetrating the silence. “And some cocoa. I didn’t think we needed much else, y’know. I mean, I really hope it’s not too litt—”

“Peter, it’s perfect.”

Finishing the sandwiches took a couple minutes at most — there were two tuna salad ones, and two peanut butter. You spent ten minutes in silence, though, taking turns sipping hot cocoa from the thermos.

He leaned back to put the Saran wrap from the sandwiches and the empty thermos in the basket, then moved it off to the side.

Your hands came together again, and you took a moment to fiddle with his fingers. He was always so much warmer than you were. His hands were like beacons of heat by themselves. You allowed your fingers to trace patterns on his palm, the back of his hands, his fingertips, and everywhere in between. It wasn’t long before you’d leaned into his side, his arm moving to encircle your waist and pull you closer to him. Your head was rested on his shoulder, forehead nestled in the crook of his neck. The air was light, but silent. You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head.

“What are you thinking about?”

He smiled and huffed out a sigh.

“I really love you, (Y/N).”

You breathed. In, out. In, out.

“I love you too, Peter.”

You stayed there, lost track of time, meandered back inside only when FRIDAY alerted you that dinner was waiting. It’d maybe been hours, but nobody was really certain how much time you’d spent on that rooftop with your hands intertwined. It wasn’t nearly long enough, though. You let yourselves disappear, meld into one person, one organism, one entity, breathing synchronized and hearts beating one and the same.

 _— do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you?_ _  
_ _float down, like autumn leaves._ _  
_ _hush now, close your eyes before the sleep._ _  
_ _[ ed sheeran ; autumn leaves ]_


	7. christmas lights (thor x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and thor spend your christmas together as a couple

**christmas lights; thor x reader**

_(y/n) = your name  
_

Thor Odinson had experienced more things in life than you could possibly imagine.

He had encountered Bilgesnipe, fought wars all across the Nine Realms, battled the Chitauri, dealt with his absolute  _ twat _ of a younger brother for over a millennium, and grown up as literal royalty. He’d lead armies, traveled across the galaxy, and killed scores of men.

Yet somehow, the snowfall in New York City never ceased to amaze him.

You knew he’d seen it before — he’d told you of the light snow they received in Asgard, the heaps of it in Jötunheimr, his few encounters with the substance on Midgard… but every time he’d looked out of the window since the first snowfall of the season, he got this small smile on his face, eyes twinkling. The first time he’d seen it, you’d both just woken up from a night of deep slumber, cuddled together under your comforter. As soon as you drowsily took note of the white flakes falling to the ground, you dragged him to the window. His blue eyes were fixed to the scene in front of him, and a smile played at the corners of his lips.

“(Y/N),” he spoke in his usual low voice, “I think I quite enjoy your Midgardian winters.”

You just laughed and pulled him to the bathroom so you could both brush your teeth.

That Christmas morning, you were slowly pulled from your deep sleep, body encompassed in warmth. The bedsheets that surrounded your form were heavy and rather thick (some name brand you’d never even  _ heard _ of, thanks to Tony), and you could feel the steady rise and fall of Thor’s shirtless chest under your head. That was how you normally slept — your boyfriend on his back, your head upon his chest with one of his arms wrapped around you, the other out to the side. You liked having his heartbeat to lull you to sleep, and he liked the reassurance that you were right there with him.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmured as you batted your eyes open and yawned. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” you joked, smiling when he chuckled at your ill attempt at humour.

You moved to get up, but Thor huffed out a sigh and pulled you back down to him.

“Just a while longer, my love. I quite enjoy having you here with me.”

You had to fight the smile away from your face.

“Yeah, okay, okay. Five more minutes. Dork.”

He chose not to comment at your insult and instead sighed in content when your head found its usual place on his torso.

When you felt his breathing begin to slow, you laughed, knowing he was most definitely prepared to fall asleep again in this position. You poked his chest a few times, laughing once again when he grumbled something under his breath and used his free hand to swat your prodding finger away.

“Alright, small one,” he conceded, and you pouted at the teasing nickname.

You pulled away from the heat of his chest, and the lack of warmth assaulted you instantly. Grumbling, you dragged yourself out of bed, suddenly unexcited at the prospect of leaving Thor’s warm embrace and the absurdly high temperature of your bedroom.

Still pouting, you asked him, “Why the hell are you so warm?”

He just laughed at you.

It took you a moment to realize that he hadn’t yet gotten out of bed, and instead had shifted so that his back was against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. You rolled your eyes but turned to face him with a smile edging its way onto your face.

“Whatcha doin’?” you asked, and he chuckled at you again.

His smile was wide and warm, and his eyes twinkled.

“Come here, my love,” he spoke, holding his hand out to you.

Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you cautiously stepped forwards and set your hand in his, giggling when he pulled you to help you onto the bed. Soon enough, you were straddling his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm.

“What’s up, Thor?”

His hand moved to your face, and he cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I love you, my queen,” he mumbled, his voice low and gravelly. “I love you more than you will ever know.”

You leant forward to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

Heart thrumming, you uttered a soft, “I love you too, my king. Merry Christmas.”

He kissed your forehead, arms going around your waist to pull you closer to him. Your chest was now pressed against his, forehead settled in the spot just above his nose. You looped your arms around his neck, and your eyes held steady contact with his. While a smile was playing on your lips, a smirk found its way onto his face, and you scrunched your eyebrows again, shrieking out a giggle when his head ducked down to press a gentle kiss to your jaw.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving light kisses as he went, and he stopped at your collarbone, his breath tickling your sensitive skin.

He tilted his head up to look you in the eye, his own blue orbs bright with laughter.

“Come, (Y/N). The others shall be angry at our late arrival to the Commons.”

“As you wish, Thor,” you joked, pulling yourself from his lap and hopping from the bed. He followed you this time, his hand finding its usual spot at the small of your back.

He was walking with you to bathroom when he stilled, hand not leaving your fabric-covered skin. You turned to face him, about to ask what he wanted this time, but the words never left your mouth.

He was standing there at the floor-to-ceiling windows, smiling as his bright blue eyes took in the scene in front of him — Midtown Manhattan, covered in a thick blanket of snow, lights coming in from every which way due to the cars and buildings decorating the city.

“Thor?” you asked, and you grinned when his hand blindly found yours, fingers interlacing.

“Midgard truly is a wonderful place.”

You shook your head bemusedly and pulled him to the bathroom with you.

After brushing your teeth and a not-so-quick shower (of which maybe, kinda, sorta,  _ potentially _ included an obscene amount of making out), you dressed in one of Thor’s sweaters and a pair of pajama pants, and he threw on a cotton tee and sweatpants. You were downstairs just a few minutes later, making your way into the Commons with everyone else.

“Morning, guys,” you chirped, going to grab a cup of coffee for yourself and tea for Thor, while your boyfriend collected a variety of breakfast foods. Your friends began their usual teasing about your lateness.

“Something hold you up?” Nat said with a smirk, eyeing you over the rim of her mug.

“Thor was being a doofus and didn’t wanna get out of bed,” you sighed. “He’s a man-child. I’m in love with a man-child.”

“Aren’t we all in love with man-children?” Tony asked. He then turned to face Steve, face stoic and serious, which you felt meant nothing good, and your suspicions were confirmed as correct within five seconds; “Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?”

Steve punched Tony in the arm, causing the man to grimace in pain.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Another punch.

“You’ll get back to me on it?”

Steve’s fist was only halfway to Tony’s arm when he held his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, it’s a no this time. I’ll try again next week.”

Steve sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t think I’m the man-child here, Tony.”

“Mm, agree to disagree.”

You laughed at their immature conversation, but Thor’s booming laughter overpowered your own.

“You Midgardians are quite interesting,” he mused, and you smiled at his amusement.

He brought you an overwhelming amount of food just a few seconds later — a grand stack of pancakes, some toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and much more. Considering how little you ate in comparison to him, he tended to load food onto your plate, let you consume what you wanted, and finish the pile that remained. It was quite a system.

You made your way through as much food as you could while periodically sipping on your hot coffee. Thor’s eyes were trained on you as he drank his own beverage. He’d taken to Midgardian herbal teas a few months prior; hibiscus and ginger were his two favourites, but you’d prepared him some peppermint (in the holiday spirit).

You noticed his eyes on you as you were finishing up, and you ducked your head to avoid his gaze.

“Why are you staring, Thor?” you asked, laughing nervously.

“Ah, I cannot help it, (Y/N),” he mumbled. “Your beauty is… captivating.”

You rolled your eyes, kicking his shin. “You’re cute.”

Thor frowned at you, leaning closer as to nudge you with his nose, then press a kiss to your cheek. His stubble tickled you, and you smiled at the sensation.

“I speak with sincerity, my love. I truly believe you are the most beautiful being I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter. In all the Nine Realms.”

You smiled wider and slid the plate closer to him. You then proceeded to take a sip from your coffee once more in an attempt to hide the smile that continued to spread across your face.

“Can we open presents now?” Clint asked, voice rising above everyone else’s.

“I think I found another man-child,” you said under your breath, and Thor’s low chuckle made your heart beat ever harder. “C’mon, we should all go to the living room. I want presents too.”

You took your near-empty coffee mug and Thor’s tea, ensuring the god would follow you to the couches across the commons. Everyone slowly picked up their belongings, trudging to follow you. You found a place on your favourite loveseat, and Thor soon sat next to you. You handed him his mug and allowed yourself to settle into his side, his warmth once again comforting you.

You looked up at him and had to refrain from laughter; there was a bit of pancake in his beard, and he was engaged in conversation with Steve about one thing or another. The light was hitting him just right, making his eyes shine like you’d never seen before.

You tugged at his shirt, and he looked down at you a few seconds later, cocking his head to the side.

“Yes, my love?”

You smiled and moved to pick the crumbs from his beard.

“Merry Christmas, Thor.”

He beamed back at you.

“Merry Christmas to you as well, (Y/N).”

He finished his breakfast at a remarkable pace and set the plate on the coffee table in front of you. As soon as he did so, you tugged on his shirt again, and he knew what you wanted before you had a chance to speak.

He moved to a position where his back was against the armrest of the loveseat, legs extending to the other side; you settled with your back against his chest, and his legs were on either side of you.

Thor smiled against your neck, pressing a kiss there with a sigh.

“I spoil you far too much, my darling. I cater to your every whim. Life as a queen would suit you.”

His arms encircled your waist, and you drew circles on his forearm with your fingertip.

“Maybe someday, Thor.”

He nodded in agreement.

“Mm, I agree. I’d like you to myself for just a while longer.” He chucked before continuing,    
“Asgard can do without, for the time being. I shall make you my queen when the time is right.”

The nonchalance with which he talked about the subject — about  _ marriage _ — made your stomach flip in an odd mix of nerves and excitement. His queen. Queen of Asgard. The thought made your head spin.

“Good,” you sighed. “When the time is right.”

Clint cheered when Bruce and Tony finally entered the room, discussing plans for an upgrade to Steve’s suit.

“Time to open gifts!” he demanded, causing you and your boyfriend to laugh at his antics.

You turned to look at Thor, and your eyes met.

“I love you, Thor,” you said.

“I love you too, my darling.”

It was, in a word, the best Christmas ever.


	8. hoarse (loki x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend some quality time with your boyfriend when you get sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request: "Can I request a Loki x Reader where his s/o loses her voice after being sick the previous day and Loki keeps telling her not to strain her voice but at the same time he can’t help but make fun of how scratchy it sounds? He also thinks it’s cute when she gets embarrassed about it?” [smallriverfox @ tumblr](http://smallriverfox.tumblr.com)

**hoarse; loki x reader**

_(y/n) = your name  
_

“Love, come back to bed.”

His voice came from behind you; it was a deep, rich timbre resonating through the air, and you knew it all too well. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone — the way his eyebrows were quirked and his arms were likely crossed over his chest. For being the God of Chaos, your boyfriend was ridiculously predictable.

“Good morning to you too, Loki,” you spoke, voice rough against your sore throat. Every syllable was a sort of hoarse whisper, strained and gravelly and raw. Those six words brought a slow burn up your esophagus and left you grimacing in discomfort. He scoffed from where he stood at the entrance to your kitchen, and you couldn't help but turn to face him.

There he stood, in all his glory. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow raised in your direction (just as you’d predicted). A pair of plaid pajama pants hung low on his waist, and his chiseled chest was bare. The sight of him in something so horribly mundane — so _Midgardian_ — brought the smallest hint of a smile to your lips.

“What are you doing up, darling?” he asked, leaving his position to saunter over to you, bare feet resonating against the dark tile of your kitchen. “If my ears don’t deceive me, you’re still quite ill. You need to rest. I’m certain that whatever you’re doing can wait a few hours.”

“If your ears don’t deceive you?”

You disregarded the rest of his lengthy statement, hands shakily pouring coffee beans from the bag into your coffee machine. Despite your illness (or rather, perhaps, _in_ spite of it), you were determined to follow your normal morning routine and prepare yourself some coffee. Not even your boyfriend — Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Asgard, God of Chaos and Mischief, and self-proclaimed conqueror of worlds — could deter you.

He scoffed again, the sound of his footsteps stopping as he settled behind you with his broad chest against your back. His arms found their usual place around your waist, and you had to restrain a giggle when he nuzzled his nose into your neck. If someone had told you, even just a few months ago, that Loki would soon be showing you such affection and vulnerability, you would’ve laughed yourself all the way to Asgard.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, my love, but your voice sounds like that of a Bilgesnipe.”

“...Is that a good thing?”

Loki walked away without further comment, so you turned to stick your tongue out at his retreating form.

Opening the fridge, he spoke, “That’s awfully mature, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and continued the tedious process of brewing your coffee. In fact, you were just about to press the emboldened _BREW_ button on the machine when a familiar pair of hands grabbed you by the waist, causing you to shriek and elbow whomever it was in the chest. Hard.

“Oh, in the name of Odin, calm _down,_ (Y/N),” Loki drawled, pulling you into his chest.

You exhaled a deep breath of relief you didn’t know you’d even been holding. And you elbowed him again. Just for good measure.

You grumbled as he wrapped his arms around your waist again, and asked him, “Loki, what the hell did you have to do that for? One second you’re opening the fridge, and the next—”

“Scaring you is the best way to divert your attention.”

That caused you to complain under your breath and pout like a petulant child.

“Nonetheless, as your gracious and caring boyfriend, I am declaring that you, my love, are not allowed to consume beverages other than water and tea due to your illness.”

You started to protest, but he cut you off.

“Coffee will do nothing but dehydrate you, love.”

With that, he promptly swept you up, looping his arms underneath your knees and behind your back, marching towards your bedroom with you in his arms, bridal style. You shrieked again (for the second time in a span of 30 seconds! The audacity—) and threw your arms around his neck.

“You’re a turd!” you whined, not having the energy to fight back.

“Yes, potentially, but I also know you too well, and I _know_ you would never leave peacefully.”

He was right.

You resigned to rest your head on his shoulder as he continued walking, and you almost didn’t notice when he set you down on your bed and pulled the covers over your body. He followed suit, crawling into the bed from his side and joining you under the sheets.

“Get some rest, love,” were the last words you heard before drifting into a nap.

//

Naps were _so_ overrated.

As an adult, it wasn’t like you got to take them often; if you got home from work early or you were waiting for Loki to come home so that you could spend three hours doing nothing but eating cheap Chinese takeout and watching reruns of Full House on Nickelodeon, you’d maybe catch a 30-minute cat nap. But when you woke up from your Tylenol-fueled slumber with your voice _gone_ and your head throbbing, you swore off naps — they were _clearly_ invented by some evil, higher power to exacerbate your symptoms.

Your eyes fluttered open to see Loki lying next to you, reading a book written in some foreign language; it was written in symbols that hurt your eyes and confused the living daylights out of you. You had opened your mouth to greet him, and were unpleasantly surprised when the only noise you were capable of producing was a thin, raspy whisper.

Loki’s eyes darted to you, and he had to hold back a chuckle at the way your eyebrows had furrowed in frustration.

You saw the way the corner of his lip twitched in laughter, and your frown deepened. You opened your mouth to scold him, but once again, only a weak whisper left your mouth.

“Wait here, love,” he said to you, doing his best to maintain his composure. You heard him laugh as soon as he stepped over the threshold into the hallway.

Buttface.

He returned a few minutes later, and all of your annoyances were forgotten as your heart melted at the sight.

Loki was holding a mug, its contents steaming and aromatic (even from across the room, you could smell _whatever_ it was). A gentle smile played on his lips, and he chuckled when you stuck your tongue out at him again.

“The woman I have fallen in love with has the maturity of a young child,” he drawled, but the look in his eyes was playful, despite his words. When he came over, mug still held carefully in his hands, you tilted your head and furrowed your eyebrows in question.

Catching the look you directed at him, he smiled and handed the mug to you as you sat up.

“It’s a special herbal tea,” Loki told you. “My mother used to make it for me and Thor when we were sick. Mind, it’s rather fragrant, but I hope it’ll help you feel better, love.”

It wasn’t like Loki to share those intimate details with you; even after all this time, he hadn’t exactly formed a habit of indulging you with personal stories. The short anecdote brought a smile to your face and warmed your heart. You blew into the mug, cooling its contents, and took a sip to hide your grin.

//

Loki was, in a word, fed up.

You had attempted to speak a solid 17 times in the span of an hour, and had actually gotten halfway through twice as many sentences before Loki noticed the scratchy sound of your voice. At this point, he was tempted to make use of his magic and silence you. He _would,_ actually, but there was an overwhelming possibility of you marching to find Thor (wherever in the Nine Realms he was), demanding he reverse the magic, and then he’s back at square one (but this time, square one includes a really angry (Y/N) and an abundance of whisper-yelling).

“(Y/N), I told you to rest your voice.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but he cut you off before you could even begin.

“Darling, you know I love you, but you sound like my brother’s pet.”

You raised your eyebrows in question.

“Thor has a pet Bilgesnipe by the name of Bilgy. Quite a horrid creature, honestly, and a right brute at times.”

Your face burned with slight embarrassment, so you nudged your boyfriend with your elbow and pouted. In a flurry of mock-anger, you moved to lie on your side, facing away from Loki. Just to be dramatic, you puffed your cheeks up like a blowfish and huffed a breath out your nose.

Loki shuffled behind you, and just a couple second later, his warm arm was looping over your waist, pulling you backwards and into his chest. His nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and he then pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear. His breath was warm against your already feverish skin, and you shivered at the feeling.

“You’re somehow cuter when you’re embarrassed,” he mumbled, and you responded appropriately. By raspberrying.

He chuckled, then grumbled out a, “Go to sleep, love.”

“I love you, Loki,” you managed through your aching throat.

“I love you too, (Y/N),” he spoke back to you, and your heart _thump_ ed harder than normal.

Huh. Maybe one more nap wouldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! if you want to send in a request, you can do so at my tumblr: [+click](http://www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com/request)
> 
> if you enjoyed this, consider [donating a few bucks to me on my ko-fi page!](http://ko-fi.com/bbarnes) thank you so much. don't forget to comment and leave kudos if you enjoy my writing!

**Author's Note:**

> if you would like to make a fic request, you can do so at my tumblr: [+click me!!](http://www.darlingbuchanan.tumblr.com)
> 
> please read the rules before you send in a request. links to my request page, rules, masterlist and prompts can be found at the left!


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